


Hey, Stranger

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Character Study, Heavy on the drama, Jackson's dad is a douche, M/M, Markson are a low-key powercouple, Yugbam are Yugbam, a lot of emotions, brotherly relationships, graphic description of blood, kdrama inspired, low-key action, mystery is all fine and dandy until emotions get involved, semi-spy au, there is action but i'm not the best at it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: A CEO, tattoo artist, medicine student and fashionista meet. Only, one of them is lying, because one of them is a spy.A k-drama inspired Markson story full of roller-coaster emotions and heart-to-hearts, as well as some mystery and subterfuge.
Relationships: Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Kim Yugyeom, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 25
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...what's this? Am I seriously starting a multi-chaptered fic?  
> Apparently, yes. I've wanted to do this for a while and I strive to update every weekend, but please don't hold me to it. I'm excited for this story, but do know it'll be heavy on the drama and not so much the action. It's a spy fic, but different. Comments are highly appreciated; please, let me know what you think!
> 
> Alrighty. Sit back, relax, and enjoy!
> 
> (Also, let's see if you can figure out who the spy is. Don't worry, I'm not making it too hard XD)

The restaurant chatter is mild for evening rush-hour, allowing Jackson to lean over and whisper in Mark’s ear.

“You ready for this?”

“Babe,” Mark murmurs, never taking his eyes off the menu in his hands. “You’ve asked me that three times already. I’m starting to think _you’re_ not ready for this.”

Jackson huffs, folding his arms and failing to hide a blush. Why is he dating such a know-it-all again? The answer comes easily when Mark slides one hand over, palm up, and Jackson threads their fingers.

“I’m nervous,” he admits, only receiving a knowing hum in response. “I want tonight to go well.

A table three rows over bursts out into birthday singing and Mark finally turns to meet Jackson’s eye. The older looks as calm as always, smile soft and eyes laser focused. He squeezes Jackson’s hand.

“I’m sure your brother and I can find some common ground. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” Jackson breathes, nodding mostly to himself. This will work. It has to. Bambam is one of Jackson’s most precious people, with Mark added to that description as of five months ago. Knowing their father would never approve of Jackson dating someone without the necessary status, Jackson’s been keeping his relationship as secret as he can, which also means he’s been purposefully keeping quiet about it to Bambam. Something the younger will no doubt be angry about. It was a painfully necessary evil, but that doesn’t make fessing up any easier.

After another minute of anxious waiting and Mark rubbing soothing circles on his hand, the desk at the front finally yields the white hair Jackson’s been looking for. Bambam’s here. For a second he’s relieved, then the nerves kick in twice as hard and he starts jiggling his knee.

Mark grabs the offending appendage under the table and forces it still, frowning at Jackson. “Jack, seriously. He’s your brother. Even if he’s angry we’ll work this out.”

“You don’t know Bambam,” Jackson murmurs, suddenly unable to keep still and beginning to needlessly rearrange the cutlery. With an equally amused and worried look, Mark lets him. “I’m not overreacting,” Jackson hisses. “Bambam holds grudges like you wouldn’t- holy shit, who the fuck is that!” He gapes at his stupid little brother _sucking the face off another man_. Perhaps that’s an overstatement, but that kiss is certainly too long for public spaces. He pokes Mark, switching his eyes to his suddenly quiet boyfriend to hiss some more, only to find his partner dissolving into hysterical giggles, leaning into Jackson as though his pain is unimportant.

He gapes down at Mark. “Why are you _laughing?_ I’m having a crisis here!”

“Your face,” Mark hiccups, muffling his laughter in his hands. “Holy- you should see your face!”

“I have the exact face someone has after finding out their little brother has a secret boyfriend whom he casually brings to a Thursday evening dinner!”

Mark snorts, hiding even more in his hands as he shakes his head. With a critical eye, Jackson follows Bambam’s and what’s-his-face’s progress through the restaurant, his brother obviously oblivious to the scrutiny.

“He’s tall,” Jackson grumbles after he’s conceded that Mark will be useless in his pity party. “He’s stupidly tall.”

“Oh my god,” Mark breathes, still laughing in between his words. He’s leaning his arms on the table, head pillowed in his hands as his shoulders shake. “You two are so brothers,” he giggles. “You both brought a secret date. Holy shit, Jack,” he shoots a shit-eating grin. “He’s a mini-you.”

That’s it. There will be no sex for Mark tonight. He doesn’t care he’s shooting himself in the foot with that. Mark is _so annoying._

The waiter finally makes it to their table, waving a silent arm before retreating, and Bambam lets out a joyous ‘hey bro!’ before his eyes fall on Mark and both his eyebrows rise up to meet his hair.

After having seen what he just saw, and spotting tall, blonde and baby-faced grinning behind Bambam, Jackson no longer feels so bad about the Mark-bomb.

“Hey Bammie,” he nods at Annoyingly Tall with a closed smile. “I see you brought a _friend_.” Just as he says it, making sure he uses just the right amount of stress so his brother’s cheeks fill with red because _I saw that, Bammie_ , Jackson looks at his brother’s shadow again and notices something off. The boy is no longer grinning, eyes wide and skin pale as he trembles in his skin.

Without meaning to, the brothers speak at the same time. “Dude, you okay?”

Jackson snaps his eyes to Bambam, seeing his brother do the same. “What do you mean?” They speak at the same time again, making Jackson splutter as Bambam blinks rapidly.

“Stop copying me!” They yell at exactly the same time. Bambam gapes and Jackson glares, their tension palpable from years of ‘I didn’t take your shit you just lost it’ … and then just as easily dissipates.

Mark moves in his seat, an aborted motion to stand up calling Jackson’s attention to the fact his boyfriend looks possibly even more ashen than The Tall Stranger.

“Mark, is everything okay?” Jackson cautions, putting a hand on a trembling shoulder. He’s ignored, Mark letting out a sound that’s eerily close to a sob.

“Yugyeom?” The older whispers at the same time Bambam’s plus-one turns in place and runs in the opposite direction. There’s brief chaos, the mysterious ‘Yugyeom’ crashing into a table as he races for the exit and Mark following with lightning speed while screaming the unfamiliar name. Within three seconds, and many a broken dishes and angry glares later, Bambam turns to Jackson with saucer eyes, holding up his hands like he’s trying to find something to hold onto.

“What the fuck just happened?” Bambam breathes.

“How am I supposed to know!” Jackson yells. He springs up, snatches his jacket off the chair and marches for the exit. A harried waiter harasses Bambam behind him to which the younger boy replies with a heated ‘just put it on _his_ tab’, which means Jackson possibly owes this restaurant an apology if he ever wants to eat here again, but first things first.

The air outside is cool, light spilling from almost every window in the street as only a few stragglers are left. It’s prime dining time meaning Jackson can continue his brisk walk into a random direction as he scans the sidewalk on both sides.

“Hey!” Bambam jogs up behind him, falling into step with a scowl. “Why the hell did your person chase Gyeomie out of the restaurant!”

“My _person?”_ Jackson glares at Bambam. “Why did _Gyeomie_ run the second he saw us?!”

“Because he was scared, obviously!” Bambam rages, yanking his phone out as he keeps talking. “Can’t _believe_ you brought someone dangerous to meet me.”

This time Jackson rounds on him, stopping them dead on the sidewalk. “Don’t talk about Mark when you don’t know him! He’s the least dangerous person on this _planet!”_

But Bambam stubbornly continues, using his recently gained bulk to push Jackson back a step. “Well obviously you missed something because your ‘Mark’ just scared the sweetest guy in exis-” his eyes snap to something over Jackson’s left shoulder and he gasps. “Get off him!”

“Wha-” Jackson’s left blinking at nothing as Bambam shoots past, shouting obscenities at … Jackson pales as he spots it. At Mark and Yugyeom close, together, _holding each other-_

Jackson yanks Bambam back just three steps from their boyfriends. Bambam gapes next to him, literally stands and gapes, and Jackson wants to join him.

It’s impossible to describe Yugyeom’s and Mark’s position as anything other than compromising. They’re just in the mouth of a small alley, visible from the street but only if you’re looking, and Yugyeom’s backed against the wall. The boy’s eyes are wet, hands trembling where they hang next to Mark’s side, while Mark …

“Dude,” Bambam croaks, thankfully looking just as confused as Jackson feels. “Is your person _crying?”_

The answer to that is yes, so Jackson nods. He goes from looking at Yugyeom’s silent tears to Mark’s complete sobfest. The older is hugging Yugyeom like he’ll die if he doesn’t, and crying like someone else _did_ die. He’s never seen Mark like this, wouldn’t even know where to start unpacking what he’s seeing, and can’t garner any clues from Yugyeom’s stand-off-ish attitude as to whether these two used to be …something.

Apparently, Bambam is having similar problems. “Seriously!” The boy throws his arms in the air then glares at Jackson.

He splutters. “Why the hell do you think I understand anything better than you do!”

“Because he’s your-” Bambam flounders for words and is saved by Mark’s sudden yell. They both jump and turn to look.

Mark has finally taken a step back, no longer crushing Yugyeom in a hug though his tears are no less present. Despite them, he looks furious.

“Six years!” He screams at a shaking Yugyeom. The younger has his head down, fringe hiding his wet eyes. Mark’s voice breaks as he continues. “Six fucking years! I thought you were _dead_. I looked everywhere and I couldn’t-”

They’ll never find out what Mark couldn’t do, as Yugyeom mumbles something that visibly hurts Mark and cuts him off. The older stumbles a step back. “What?”

“I said I never asked you to look for me,” Yugyeom repeats louder, red eyes finally glaring up. Jackson knows he shouldn’t be watching this but he’s frozen in place, Bambam too if the boy’s silence is any indication. He still can’t figure out what the hell happened between these two, but boy is it _big._

“I didn’t want you to look for me, Mark! I didn’t want-”

“You didn’t want me to know you were alive!?” Mark yells, hands fisted and trembling by his side. “You just wanted me to live with this fucking pit in my stomach for the rest of my life because I had _no idea what happened to you!”_

The silence after Mark’s voice tears through the night feels alive. It’s a buzzing creature nestled against Jackson’s skin as Mark huffs in place and Yugyeom’s back to staring at the ground.

Yugyeom opens his mouth. “Yes.” His whisper may as well have been a shout.

This time even Bambam sucks in a sharp breath at the broken look on Mark’s face. It feels like violence isn’t far behind and Jackson can’t stand to see this level of grief any longer, no matter he still isn’t any wiser about what brought it on.

“Mark,” he takes an urgent step, “maybe we should-”

But Mark isn’t listening, it’s like the man can’t even hear him. He stands with tears on his face and loose limbs, eyes so far gone he’s likely space travelling. “You hate me that much?” he whispers.

A complicated emotion crosses Yugyeom’s face as the silence stretches, but the boy never makes a motion to correct Mark.

Jackson takes another step, feeling empathy tears burn his throat as Mark looks ready to fall apart. “Ma-” His fingers close on empty air when Mark fucking teleports. He’s already running down the main street before Jackson can turn his head. Without words he has a conversation with Bambam. A single look all it takes to convey ‘I’m leaving, you stay, we’ll talk later’ and get a confirmation from the younger. Then Jackson’s running. The street is still empty, harsh light illuminating the figure up ahead as his own fast footfalls pound in his head.

“Mark!” he yells for what feels like the fifth time tonight when the other finally stops and Jackson can close the distance. Up close, the other looks even worse than just now, if only because he’s shaking from head to toe as he leans against a brick wall and hacks up bile.

This night has turned to madness before Jackson’s very eyes and he’s so fucking _confused._

With a quick look he assures the people around are far enough not to hound them, and Jackson puts a careful hand on Mark’s back. “Breathe with me,” he murmurs, trying to mask worry with calm. “Just breathe, Mark. That’s it.”

The hacking turns to aborted sobbing, turns to gulping breaths that Jackson can feel under his hand. After what feels like minutes of soothing words, Mark finally opens his eyes. He’s still pale, still looks like he’s hundreds of miles away, but there’s an immeasurable sadness in his face, in his drooping shoulders and red eyes.

For the first time since this fiasco, Jackson knows what to do.

“Let me take you home,” he tells Mark.

There’s no response, but Mark doesn’t protest when Jackson moves him. It’s a start.

* * *

Later that night, when Jackson’s brought Mark back to his penthouse, because _no way_ is he leaving that man alone right now, and the older is taking a shower, Jackson finally takes a minute to sift through the mess inside his head.

He sinks into his couch, staring at the high and bright ceiling as darkness covers the open windows on his left. It’s barely late but he’s tired. This is hardly the emotional exhaustion he’d been expecting to come out of today. Not the least because Mark was supposed to be his rock for the evening, not the other way around, and also because ‘six years’ and ‘I thought you were dead’ keep floating around until his brain hurts from all the unanswered questions that Mark’s been harboring these past six months of knowing him.

The doubt and suspicion sit heavily in his stomach.

Jackson, being as high-profile as he is, knows first-hand what secrets can do and how corrosive they can be. It’s why he hates them, why he hates the world he grew up in and had no choice but to work in, it’s why he loves Mark. He loves the honesty and individuality in Mark’s whole being, from the tattoos on his arms to the numerous piercings in his ears. From the fact the man carved an existence for himself in a small tattoo shop which Jackson’s drunken ass stumbled into six months prior, to the judge-free care Mark gave this whiny stranger that literally fell into his lap.

Jackson loves Mark because he thought he knew him. Now, he’s not so sure.

The sound of the shower is still running and Jackson bites his lip before grabbing his cellphone and dialing a number by muscle-memory alone.

Bambam picks up with a whisper. “Hey. Everything good on your end?”

“If by good you mean am I still confused as fuck, then yes.”

There’s only the sound of breathing for a bit, then Bambam speaks in a normal tone. “Sorry. Yugs’ still at my place so I went up to the roof. He’s really shaken up about all this.” A breathy laugh. “Honestly, so am I.”

Jackson frowns. “Did he say anything about ‘all this’?”

A suspicious silence falls. “Uhm, a little.”

“Bambam,” Jackson growls as a warning. He’s not in the mood for his brother’s games.

“First off,” Bambam begins airily, “they’re brothers.”

It’s both ridiculous and obvious, and Jackson blinks at his dark tv screen. “What?”

“Yeah. Turns out Yugyeom hid that from me.”

The bitterness in Bambam’s voice is painful, mostly because Jackson feels the same. He swallows a lump and tries to ignore a budding headache. “Mark did too.”

There’s more silence which is highly uncommon for the both of them. This whole evening is uncommon and Jackson sighs. “Anything more?”

“Yeah,” Bambam confesses with the strangest combination of reluctance and anger. “Look, I don’t want to point fingers here. I saw how you looked at Mark, okay. I know you care about him. So maybe you should wait until he tells you his side-”

“Bambam,” now his voice is gravel with an undertone of desperation. He sits up, steeling himself. “What did Yugyeom tell you?” Because Mark isn’t saying anything. _Mark is hiding things,_ the ugly voice in his head whispers.

Bambam sighs. “Jack, just- Yugyeom said himself he hasn’t seen Mark in six years so he can’t be sure, but … but things weren’t great in their past. Their mom was a pretty bad addict and Yugyeom left because Mark started to pick up her habits. That’s all he said.”

Whatever calm Jackson had vanishes, a cold rush sweeping over his skin as his eyes unconsciously focus on the hallway that leads to the bathroom. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “What does he mean by that?”

“He-” Bambam sounds apologetic which is very unlike his brother. “He says Mark got violent and scared him. That that’s why he ran.”

The disbelief is a living entity keeping Jackson stuck on his couch. The strain on his lungs has him barely breathing as Bambam’s nervous laughter filters in.

“But you know this guy, right? You’re careful, right? I mean, he’s not like that … right?”

Only Jackson can’t answer because how much about Mark did he not know? How many times has he heard the I’m-an-only-child spiel? How much pain and empathy did he feel when Mark confessed one evening that his mother killed herself when he was twenty and left him all alone? And all that time, Mark was hiding a brother and _this._

When he stays silent for too long, Bambam’s voice goes cold. “Jackson. Tell me that guy you’re with isn’t dangerous.”

It takes ages to unstick his tongue, to force the words out when he hears the shower turn off. “I’ll call you back.”

He hangs up and still can’t move, then he’s suddenly moving too much. He’s pacing and yanking his hair, trying to come up with dozens of reasons why Mark would keep this all hidden. Maybe he was embarrassed? Maybe it hurt too much? Maybe he _really_ thought his brother was dead?

But none of those things are a good enough reason. Because if there’s one thing Jackson can’t take, can’t _live with_ , it’s a liar. Even if it’s a lie by omission. He has too much of that in his regular life, too many fake people surrounding him on a daily basis to also deal with one in his private life.

As his resolve steels, Jackson wipes a hand over his face to catch any wayward emotion. Doors open and close in the hall. It’s now or never. He’ll listen to Mark’s side, he’ll listen and pray there’s a reason behind this lie he can understand, because if there isn’t... Jackson’s heart skips a beat and he stumbles into the wall, already shaking as he thinks the worst.

If there isn’t, then maybe none of this was meant to be.

* * *

At the same time as the first, another phone call is made that night. It’s picked up on the third ring.

_“Report.”_

“We have a problem. My brother showed up.”

_“…you don’t have a brother.”_

“I do. And he’s here.”

_“Fuck. That is a problem. Were you compromised?”_

“No. I handled it.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“I was sufficiently dramatic. No one suspects so far.”

_“Good. Keep your head down and stay on task. You know the directive.”_

“Him being here changes everything. I have to keep being involved with him but that could blow my cover. I’ll have to take some risks with the relationship between me and the target. I can’t pretend it’s all fine or he’ll suspect.”

_“Then keep acting and do it well. You know what’s at stake. We can’t afford to lose you or we’ll never have time to place someone else this close to the target before things get messy. You have to keep your cover, do you understand.”_

“…I understand.”

* * *

Jackson is dizzy as he lies in bed that night. The room is dark and his sheets are warm, but nothing registers. He stares at the faint shadows of his closet, the almost imperceptible lining of his door, then blinks out of exhaustion and whishes he hadn’t. The whole night comes flooding back whenever he closes his eyes, a colorful movie reel playing behind his lids as he grapples to understand.

 _‘I think I should go home’_ the Mark in his memories says for the thousandth time that night. He looks as wrecked as all the other nine hundred and nighty nine times, hair still wet from the shower and wearing Jackson’s clothes.

And every time, Jackson hears himself say the same thing. _‘I guess so.’_

Which is when Mark walks out, forgetting his jacket, and Jackson lets him.

They talked in the hallway, or Jackson repeated Bambam’s words and Mark turner grimmer with every second, and then the older left.

He said nothing, explained nothing. Mark just left.

Jackson blinks again and keeps staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck happened in the last four hours to uproot his life this bad. He finally passes out when the sun rises, his left hand still curled around Mark’s jacket that’s on the empty side of the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

“…as shown by the increase in last month’s sales. CEO Wang? Sir? Sir, do you agree?”

Finally, the voice filters in. Jackson snaps his head up from where he’s been blindly staring at the hand-out in front of him, seeing the fifteen executives in the board meeting staring curiously at him. Fuck it, he missed something. Mr Choi is looking the most expectant, one hand still raised as he was in the middle of his speech and Jackson nods. Whatever was asked, that seems to do the trick and the room turns their attention back to Mr Choi and the colorful graph on the giant screen.

Jackson still doesn’t know what they’re discussing. He loses track five sentences in and uses all his brainpower simply to keep his eyes open. His assistant had to call him awake this morning after he overslept due to _not sleeping_ , and now he’s attempting to look as unflappable as always while the droning voices around him might as well be a lullaby.

These meetings are the most boring part of his job, something he will be glad to be rid off in about two months’ time. Not that anyone knows about that. Not even Ma-

He cuts himself off with a grimace, drawing another line on the edge of his hand-out. So far, there are thirty-four. He sighs and drags his eyes back up.

Only nine more hours to go until he’s free for the day.

He sighs again.

The meeting drags on and Jackson honestly misses half of it, until finally they disperse and he can hide away in his office. Which is where his eerily punctual assistant is already waiting for him with a stack of papers that’s enough to bring back Jackson’s headache with a vengeance. He groans as he sinks into his chair, giving the papers the stink-eye. Jinyoung still drops them on his desk.

Jackson glares at the man. “Sadist.”

The other ignores him, tapping the tablet in his hands. “You have a meeting at four with the director from finances to finalize the new contracts and then planning and management is scheduled for six to overlook the new building plans for next year. Don’t forget to get their estimate on the cost.”

Jackson nods along and grabs the first file, ready to do something else with his thoughts that isn’t overanalyzing last night.

“And your father called,” Jinyoung continues, oblivious to Jackson’s complete shock. “You’re having lunch with him in an hour.” The man looks as perfunctory as always while Jackson scrambles for his wits.

“Don’t I have-” he starts, but Jinyoung cuts him off.

“Your blind date has been moved to next week, with agreement from your father. Apparently, he needs to speak with you urgently.”

There goes his salvation and Jackson slumps, now rubbing his forehead as his headache rages in earnest. “Did he say what it was about?”

A glass of water and some Advil appear next to the stack of papers, Jinyoung’s look softening minimally. “I’m afraid not, only that it couldn’t wait.”

“Well, that’s great,” Jackson sighs, taking the painkiller with a grateful smile. “In that case, can you tell Kwangjoo to send his reports to finances. I’ll pick them up there and look at them tonight.” Which means longer hours for him and he hunches back over the files, absently rubbing his head and unable to stop thinking what new horror his father has in store for him this time. Emergency meetings are never good.

“I will,” Jinyoung bows politely, then informs him. “The car will be waiting downstairs in forty-five minutes. I’ll come get you in forty.”

Jackson nods and then he’s left alone, no one to see him take a deep breath and close his eyes as stress stabs into his left eye. Then he goes to work.

Exactly forty minutes later, Jinyoung opens his door and has his coat ready. They make their way down and just before Jackson steps outside, the man gives him a secret smile and whispers ‘good luck’. Jackson can’t help but grimace at him. The weather is cautiously sunny, heavy clouds hanging in the distance but seemingly never reaching them. It’s a foreboding sign if Jackson ever saw one but he still gets in the waiting car, Hyunwoo nodding at him from the driver’s seat before pulling into traffic.

“Where to this time?” Jackson asks the broad-shouldered driver, realizing he forgot to ask Jinyoung.

The man glances in the rear-view mirror. “The usual, sir. Traffic isn’t too bad, so it shouldn’t take long.”

After that they fall silent, Jackson’s headache thankfully nothing but a persistent, dull ache at the back of his head. The painkiller did its work. If only there was a painkiller to soften the following conversation.

As if summoned, his phone rings. Without thinking he takes it out, almost happy when he sees the name on his screen, then everything crashes back in and he seriously considers ignoring it. Hyunwoo glances at him again from the front and Jackson knows he can’t be this petty. It’s not _befitting._

With one last deep breath, he picks it up and tries his hardest to sound normal. “Mark.” Unfortunately, that means he sounds like he’s in a board meeting and wants to spit on the person he’s talking to. He cringes.

“He-hey,” Mark stutters. “Uhm, sorry. Am I- Are you busy?”

The next sigh is so heavy it causes Hyunwoo to go from normal glancing to worried glancing and Jackson waves him off. “It’s okay,” he manages in a normal tone to Mark this time, staring out the window at the passing cars and buildings. “I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Right, yeah. Jack, I’m sorry.”

The apology is so sudden Jackson can’t formulate words for a moment. “Sorry?” he eventually croaks. “Why?” Because there are honestly a few things Jackson can think of, but also Mark has barely explained _anything_ , but now he’s sorry?

“For _this,”_ Mark sighs, as if that clears things up. “You were so careful to keep us a secret and now I fucked it all up. I know last night was a mess and I owe you a lot more than sorry. But I- I care Jackson, and- Are you okay?”

“Mark,” he rubs the palm of his hand in his left eye, the stabbing back with a vengeance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mark goes hesitant. “Have you looked at the news at all today?”

The news? “You’re still not-” he starts with a groan, only to be interrupted by a buzzing of his phone. He looks at the screen to see he has a missed call from Jinyoung. A sense of foreboding even worse than the clouds creeps up on him as he puts the phone back to his ear. “Mark, we’ll talk later.”

“Tonight?” Mark asks with such a painfully insecure voice that Jackson crumbles. Whatever is going on with Yugyeom and Mark, there’s no going around the fact that Jackson’s heart is stubborn.

“Tonight,” he promises.

They hang up and Jackson can’t even press anything before his phone is ringing again, this time displaying Jinyoung’s name. He picks up with that same sense of disaster brewing in his gut. Jinyoung starts talking immediately, sounding out of breath.

“Your father knows about your relationship with Mark,” Jinyoung rushes. “The whole damn _country_ knows. There’re pictures of you two from last night all over the internet!”

The phone falls out of Jackson’s slack hands, panic exploding in his chest as Hyungwoo slows down with a soft. “Here we are, sir.”

He supposes now he knows what the emergency lunch is about.

* * *

“We have a problem.”

_“You think! It’s on every damn gossip site. It’s fucking trending!”_

“I know! Can you take care of it on your end?”

_“I can’t just make this go away!”_

“Just keep his father from finding the gaps in my story that aren’t supposed to be there! You know that man will go looking. I’ll take care of the rest.”

_“You better. The target needs to trust you or this all fails.”_

“I’m working on it.”

* * *

The silence is deafening despite them being in a restaurant. In true fashion, his father paid for half the tables in prime lunch-time just to have a ‘private conversation’. Jackson is convinced the empty tables around them hold his father’s ego, but he’ll keep that observation to himself.

The man hasn’t spoken a word since he sat down, occasionally shifting his knife or turning his empty plate, and the non-talking is grating on the last of Jackson’s already frayed nerves. Too much has happened in the past twelve hours for him to sit here and navigate a conversation with his father, especially one that will concern Mark when Jackson isn’t even sure where that relationship stands at the moment. But, never let it be said his father doesn’t have impeccable timing for painful talks. Jackson’s childhood is filled with examples.

It takes the arrival of their lunch, rare steak for his father and a salmon salad for Jackson, for the man to finally make a sound. He spares the waiter a single glance, then busies himself slowly slicing strips off his meat. He doesn’t eat them.

“Profits are rising,” his father speaks softly, as if they’re not already cordoned off from prying eyes and ears. In an effort not to give the man the upper hand, Jackson takes a bite which he barely tastes, nodding as he chews.

His father gives him a once-over. “Any news about breaking ground for our new building?”

This time Jackson manages an empty smile, putting his cutlery down when his father does the same. The steak is halfway shredded, but not a single piece has been eaten. “I have a meeting this afternoon,” Jackson informs him, though the man must know. Nevertheless, he receives a curt nod.

“I hear your brother is doing well,” they’re finally straying away from empty topics and his father fixes his cuffs unnecessarily, caressing the watch Jackson’s mother gave him on their tenth anniversary. A year before she jumped off a building. His father only ever wears the watch when he’s meeting Jackson.

“Yes,” he glares at the dead eyes, tempering his anger with will-power alone. “Bambam’s clothing line will launch this year. He’s been working hard.” Those last words are too close to a reprimand, but Jackson’s control is tenuous. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop but his father never shows his hands. As if on cue, the man dons an empty smile himself.

“So I’m to understand the man he’s been entertaining on the side has not hindered his work-ethic.”

Jackson goes ramrod straight, heart beating in his throat. He doesn’t let his anger show in any other way, simply clenches a fist under the table and lets a silent breath escape through his nose. As expected, his father wasn’t truly looking for an answer. The man continues in the same emotionless tone.

“Or perhaps you mean to say the criminal you so senselessly let into your house hasn’t hindered _yours.”_

The anger hurts his jaw with how much he’s clenching it, but he stays silent. His father wants him to explode, is pushing his buttons to make him react, and the best Jackson can do is deprive him of the joy of winning. It doesn’t make it easier.

His father finally picks up his fork and spears a slice of meat, chewing on it with all the finesse and pleasure of a sociopath. Sometimes Jackson wonders if maybe he is. “I can’t say I was surprised to hear you’re consorting with a man barely off the streets, though I had hoped your rebelliousness ended with your teens. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Jackson sits very still and imagines plunging his father’s face in the blood swirling on his plate. The man spears another piece of meat and looks at it, then looks at Jackson.

“I was under the impression your path was clear to you. I give you my company and you maintain the necessary status and contacts to make it flourish.” He places his fork on the rim of his plate with a shrill noise, voice dripping with contempt. “This does not mean having sex with the criminally inclined simply to get a rise out of me. I raised you to be the man you are, am the reason you can sit so comfortably in that chair, and I expect some gratitude and respect!”

It's the last straw, the last drop as the overhead lights flash on his father’s watch. Anger burns until Jackson’s throat is dry and his voice gravel.

“My mom raised me,” he whispers, just loud enough for the man opposite to hear.

His father’s eyes narrow. “Until she died and left me to pick up the pieces. Which I can tell you, has not been easy, but you are my son and I will protect you from making such dangerous choices.”

“Protect me!?” Jackson’s head feels light and his body heavy, fury tensing every muscle in his body as he resists the urge to tear into the proud narcissist he’s been battling since he was twelve. “You mean control me. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I mean nothing else but that which I say,” his father stays infuriatingly calm, eyes glancing down at his watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in which I will attempt to clean up your mess, as parents do for their children.” His demeanor changes to ice. “See to it this man disappears from your life.”

With that he stands up, straightening his jacket and no doubt stroking his own ego. Jackson clenches his hands so much they go numb. “Or what?” he grinds out.

His father turns with a last empty smile. “I’m not here to threaten you, Jackson.” Then he’s gone, retreating through the empty restaurant and flashing fake smiles at the swooning staff. He leaves behind unseen destruction, as always, and it takes multiple minutes before Jackson can unclench his fists. His heart is still in his throat and the painkillers no longer work.

 _Breathe,_ he tells himself, imagining jumping up and flipping the table, screaming profanities as he smashes the chairs and breaks down so bad it becomes international news.

Drawing from an empty well, Jackson closes his eyes. _Just breathe._

* * *

The rest of the day goes similarly shitty, his only highlight being Jinyoung pulling a nasty face when the director from management and planning repeats himself for the third time in twenty minutes and Jackson imagines putting his fist through a plaster wall. His assistant is a pain in the ass, but also a god-sent.

“Maybe take a nap before you start on those,” the man suggests with a worried eye when Jackson leaves for the night, the reports from Kwangjoo stuffed under one arm. It’s been dark out for a while, his last meeting running late and Jimin calling with a small emergency about their international branch in China. It was all diffused with a few phone-calls, a simple misunderstanding due to a sloppy translation, and Jackson just hung up on a grateful overseas director praising his Mandarin and practically kissing his heels. All in a days work.

“The second I close my eyes I won’t wake up for ten hours,” Jackson sighs, hoisting the papers higher and gratefully walking out of his office as Jinyoung holds the door. “If I don’t get these done now, it’ll be chaos tomorrow.”

His assistant calls the elevator for him, then gives a very carefully worried look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jackson lies, not about to overstep their work relationship with all his baggage. Jinyoung seems to pick up on this and gives a slow nod before bowing and wishing him goodnight. The elevator is silent and Jackson refrains from looking at the mirror on the backwall. He knows he looks a mess considering the amount of times he ran his hand through his hair today alone. The last thing he needs is a confirmation.

Unfortunately, that’s precisely what he gets when Hyunwoo is waiting for him outside, no longer wearing his formal clothes but standing next to Jackson’s car anyway. Jackson frowns at him. “Haven’t you gone home yet? I thought Jinyoung told you I’m just driving back to my apartment.”

Hyunwoo nods, face stoic as always. “Jinyoung did say,” he clarifies as he opens the back door. “But then he also said you probably shouldn’t be driving after today, and no offense boss, but he’s right.”

The unexpected kindness has Jackson speechless before he manages a smile. “Thank you.”

Hyunwoo shrugs like it’s obvious.

Not having to drive means Jackson’s dozing by the time they get to his apartment, Hyunwoo shaking his shoulder to get him up. He thanks the man again, making a mental note to give him a bonus this month, then pockets his keys and makes for the elevator up to the lobby. The reports under his arm drag his mood down, but the sooner he gets those done, the sooner he can crash into bed and hopefully wake up feeling more like a human. He has things to do tomorrow that require a functioning brain.

As it turns out, he’d somewhat forgotten about the thing he still had to do today. When he steps into the lobby, nodding his greeting to Taemin behind the counter and blinking at the glare from the overhead chandelier, his progression to the apartment elevators is stopped by what at first glance appears to be a black blemish against the back-drop of off-whites and cremes that is the lobby. Then Jackson blinks and realizes Mark is sleeping on one of the couches. His long legs are stretched, head lolling to the side painfully. He looks completely out of place and Jackson knows he’s still angry, knows he’s still missing pieces of a story he thought he already knew, but seeing Mark brings a sense of calm and warmth he wasn’t even aware he needed after the stress that was today.

He turns to Taemin and whispers, glad the lobby is otherwise empty. “How long has he been here?”

Taemin glances over and goes guilty. “Three hours, sir. I told him he could go up but he was adamant he wait for you down here.”

Because Mark has secrets but he’s Mark, stupidly funny, annoyingly mischievous, and painfully compassionate Mark. Jackson can’t even blame his heart for melting into a puddle as he walks over and watches Mark doze. The smile on his face blooms completely unconsciously. There’s just something innocent and real about Mark sleeping so peacefully in the contrasting setting of Jackson’s world. After indulging for three seconds, Jackson shakes his shoulder.

Mark scrunches his nose before squinting his eyes, pushing up with a yawn when he sees who woke him. Fuck, Jackson is far gone.

“Hey,” Jackson tries for casual, “I don’t think that couch was made for sleeping.”

Mark grimaces as he rolls his shoulders. “Definitely not.” Then he peers up, the question clear in his eyes.

Jackson sighs. “Let’s go up. We should talk.”

* * *

It’s awkward between them. Which is weird. It wasn’t even this awkward when Jackson was drunk and demanding Mark tattoo his face in the hopes it would give his father a heart attack. Though in retrospect, that may be _because_ Jackson was drunk and only has vague memories. This time, however, he’s hundred percent clear and feels the tension like a living thing between them. Mark is sitting too far away for it to be casual, but not yet far enough away to be insulting. It’s an aggravating distinction that’s driving Jackson up the wall. He sips his water to have something else to focus on, noticing Mark hasn’t even touched his glass.

Jackson’s headache is happily pounding away and he glances at the glaring 23:07 on the clock. This day just won’t end.

“I should tell you-”

“Yugyeom’s my brother-”

They both start at the same time and some of the frosty tension chips away. Jackson glances at Mark and nods. “Go ahead.”

“Okay,” Mark breathes, visibly steeling himself as he breathes out. He’s leaning his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as he bites the inside of his cheek. “Yugyeom is my younger brother,” he repeats, Jackson nodding along because they’d been over that already.

Mark grimaces. “You were right about our mom. She had a substance abuse problem. The alcohol was her attempt at getting her first addiction under control and- well, it all spiraled out of control.”

It’s obviously a painful topic as Mark stops to take a deep breath, and Jackson can’t decide whether he should put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. In the end he settles for a careful question. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Finally, Mark looks at him with red-rimmed eyes and guilt pulling his mouth into a frown. “Because it was the biggest mistake of my life and it has defined me for years, but when you looked at me,” the first tear falls though Mark’s voice stays strong. “You saw none of that. You saw someone worth your time and I- … I just wanted to be that person you saw. I wanted to be that kind and that strong because then maybe, I could fix some of what I did.”

The confession is all the more damning coming from Mark himself. Despite the tears and the clear apology on Mark’s face, Jackson feels cold as he rasps through his own wavering emotions. “What exactly did you do?”

Mark bites his lip, stifling a sob as his eyes fly back to the carpet. Within seconds he’s silently crying and his eyes slip shut, voice so soft Jackson almost misses it. “I let our mom die.”


End file.
